


If "Lie to Me" Was Honest

by rhysgore



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Bitter Realism, Gen, Movie References, if you hate me for this i'm sorry i probably deserve it, policework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever notice how the rules law enforcement don't usually apply in fictional universes? What if they did?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If "Lie to Me" Was Honest

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just say that:   
> a) I'm sorry if you love this show and I'm ruining it  
> b) If procedural cop dramas were actually realistic, no one would watch them probably.  
> c) I'm still going to nitpick the crap out of them because I like pointing out the inaccuracies of television shows.

Lightman and his crew were hanging around together, waiting for the phone to ring.

"This is weird," Dr. Foster said. "Usually we're consulted once a week. I wonder what could be happening that our services aren't needed?"

"Maybe we're not being contacted because the FBI is using actual policework to solve cases?" Loker suggested. Everyone else scoffed simultaneously. Policework. What a ridiculous concept.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Lightman picked it up.

"Lightman Group (trademark), how may I help you?" he asked.

"Mr. Lightman, this is the FBI. We have a job for you and your team." Lightman turned to the rest of the group and gave a thumbs up. "A little girl, aged 10, was found dead this morning. We have a suspect whom we are preparing to apprehend, and we would appreciate it if you would come down to the police station to interrogate him. All our officers who were specially trained for interrogation and are actively working with the police are for some reason unavailable."

"Right. So I'll go and round up this suspect, bring him to my facility, and interrogate him here. Should be easy. I'll call you when he's confessed," Lightman said.

"What??? No! That is not what you should do at all, Lightman!" The agent's screams of despair were drowned out by Lightman's inability to give a shit about procedure. He put the phone down, and turned to the rest of his group.

"We have a crime to solve, gang," he declared.

*

Somehow, despite not being given any information about the suspect at all, Lightman was able to track him down. He and Dr. Foster stood outside the suspect's house, knocking insistently at the door until it was opened by a haggard looking man in a bathrobe and boxer shorts. He smelled faintly of cheap scotch.

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Cal Lightman and Gillian Foster, Lightman Group (trademark). You are a suspect in a homicide case, and you need to come with us for questioning," Lightmain said brusquely. The man looked from him to Foster, and back.

"You ain't cops?" he asked.

"We are an independent group which is occasionally contracted by the FBI," Foster replied.

"But you ain't cops, right?"

"No sir, we aren't," Foster replied, a bit testier this time.

"Fuck off, then," the man said. "I ain't goin' nowhere with you two shady assholes." He looked at Lightman, squinting slightly. "'Specially since you look like that fucker from that one Tarantino flick." He turned around, and walked back into him house, slamming the door behind him.

Lightman and Foster stood there, stunned. Their expert interrogation skills hadn't prepared them for this moment.

"I do not look like Uma Thurman," Lightman finally said.

*

Lightman eventually managed to convince someone to come back to his facility to be questioned. The person in question was suspected of stabbing her husband to death and dumping his corpse in a nearby river. She stood in the glass cube, tapping her foot impatiently.

Finally, Torres entered the cube. "Comfortable?" she asked.

"Actually, no," the woman replied.

"Why not? Do you not like the accusations that you killed your husband? Or do you just feel the weight of your guilt pressing down on you? Is that why you're uncomfortable? Does it kill you inside knowing that your husband, someone who trusted you and loved you, is dead because of you?" Torres goaded.

"Actually, I'm uncomfortable because I asked one of the people behind the security cameras to let me out of her thirty minutes ago, and they still haven't let me out. You know, for a bunch of crime experts who are routinely hired by the FBI, you guys don't seem to really know what the term 'false imprisonment' means."

Torres was stunned. Nothing in her non-training had prepared her for people who knew how the law worked.

"If you let me out of here now, I won't sue you," the woman said.

She was let out.

*

On their next assignment, Lightman and Foster travelled to a police station, where a suspect in a drive-by shooting was being legally detained, ready to be interrogated.

"Good to see you, Dr. Lightman," the policeman lied. Lightman took note of the lie, but said nothing, coddling his wounded feelings. "The suspect has been read his Miranda Rights already, so you can go on in."

"Miranda Rights? What the fuck are those??" Lightman scoffed. "Don't worry, I've got this. He'll be fessing up in no time. They always are."

He and Foster entered the room, and Lightman sat across the table from the young man already there.

"Do you have anything you want to say before we begin?" Lightman asked, knitting his hands together. The man nodded.

"Two things. One, has anyone ever told you you look like that guy in 'The Incredible Hulk'?" he asked.

"Who, Liv Tyler?" The man shook his head, sighing.

"Never mind..." he groaned. Lightman looked at Foster, who shrugged. "Two, I'm pleading the fifth. My lawyer is unavailable, and frankly, I find your group manipulative and untrustworthy.

Lightman and Foster stood there, stunned. Throughout their entire career, none of their perps had ever utilized their constitutional rights. Nothing in their training had prepared them for this moment.

"Damnit," Lightman finally said.

*

Loker was in charge of the phones while the rest of the gang was away, since his compulsive truth telling quirk made him useful to an actual police task force only in the positions of analyst, secretary, and judge of the annual police talent show. While he was working, he decided to make a quick call to a contact in the FBI to find out why they weren't being given as much buisness recently as they usually got.

"Why aren't we contracting you? Oh boy.." The agent sighed through the phone. "First of all, most of the work we do is actually through forensics. Analysis of the body, crime scene, paper trails, and witness interviews all happen before we arrest someone, usually. Second of all, we have our own people here to do interrogation, actual trained professionals who are skilled policemen to boot. Third of all... We fucking hate your boss. He's a douchebag."

Loker nodded, unable to lie even now. "Yeah, he is kind of a douchebag, isn't he."

"He has no respect for police procedure. And he looks like that hairy fuck from the crappy Planet of the Apes movie."

"Helena Bonham Carter?" Loker asked. He didn't really see the resemblance.

"Anyway, please don't call us any more. We'll call you," the agent said, before he hung up.

*

Lightman and his group spent an entire week filling out paperwork after actually managing to get a confession out of a suspect.

"This is so damn boring," Torres said.

"It's an important part of the legal system. A paper trail that can easily be found and followed can ensure that convictions are successfully and accurately reached, and that policework was performed legally, accurately, and effectively," Loker informed them all.

Everyone scoffed. "Policework," they sneered.

 


End file.
